


Jetset Life

by ponderinfrustration



Category: The Saga of Darren Shan - Darren Shan
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Grief, Mourning, Nightmares, References to Major Character Death, Shock, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets written for a Tumblr music-inspired fic meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep is a Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Singer: Meatloaf  
> Song Title: Keep Driving  
> Lyric: “Don’t wake me up, don’t ruin this dream, don’t take me from my scene”

Sleep is a relief. When he is asleep he can pretend, inhabit a different world where Mr Crepsley is still living. (Where any of them are still living - Mr Crepsley, Arra, Gavner, Paris, Kurda. They're all dead and though it isn't his fault there is a writhing nest of guilt in his heart that keeps him from sleep.)

On bad nights, he can hear Mr Crepsley's screams as he lay impaled on the stakes, the flames biting into his flesh. He can see the blood pumping from the wound in Gavner's stomach, hear the rattle of Arra's breath as they waited for the battle to end. He wakes in a sweat, panting, and try as he may sleep won't come again.

On good nights, he is back at the Cirque performing with Mr Crepsley, or working alongside Evra. Gavner is with them as they travel to the Mountain, Arra is laughing on the bars.

If he never woke from that dream world, he could die happy.


	2. Times Changing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Singer: Brenn Hill  
> Song Title: 'Ones That Changed Our Lives'  
> Lyric: "I can’t stand the news but I can’t walk away"

When Prince Arrow hears - through Mika, first, then Vancha's confirmation - that Larten has been killed, all he can do is sit and stare into space. The Hall of Princes is echoingly empty, no one here to distract him or for him to tell the sad news too. It writhes in his stomach, making it difficult to draw breath. The Hall whirls before his eyes, stirring up old memories.

Even now, an odd fondness checks his heart as he re-calls the night that Vancha and a young orange-haired vampire tracked him down to where he lived with Sarah. He didn't give the dubious looking young man much consideration at the time, dismissing him from his memory afterwards as being of little consequence. That is, of course, until the night the same orange-haired vampire - a General now in his own right - tracked him down to a ruined chalet in war-torn France along with Vancha and that Guard Flack. What struck Arrow then - and still strikes him now - eyes stinging, was how understanding Larten was, carrying a haunted look in his own eyes.

(After, when Larten's own human lover was murdered, Arrow could empathise and quietly kept an eye on his vengeance quest from the distance. Until he disappeared for so long only to re-appear with his own assistant. It was never that he knew Larten particularly well – though he thinks, now, in the silence of the Hall, that he would have liked too. It was always more that there was a similarity between them that neither quite shared with anyone else.)

And now he's gone, killed in pursuit of the Lord of the Vampaneze. The knowledge sits so wrongly on Arrow's shoulders. How could he be dead, now, after all of that? And young Darren, how will he take it? If he's anything like his mentor, like Arrow, it will make him twice as ruthless, twice as hungry to kill. He'll get himself killed with the pain of it.

_Make sure the boy stays safe_ , he pushes forth from his mind in the direction of Vancha, and the answer is almost instant, Vancha’s own grief seeping through it. _He plans to lay low for a while_.

The relief is weakening, and in spite of himself Arrow smiles, just faintly. At least there is still some mercy left in the world. _Thank the Gods_.


	3. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Miranda Lambert  
> SONG TITLE: 'Airstream Song'  
> LYRICS: "Sometimes I wish I lived on a mountain/Drank from a stream instead of a fountain"

Ah, the Mountain. It has been so long. Any day now it will swim into view and Darren will gasp in awe and  Gavner will grin. The thought stirs a warm feeling in  Larten's stomach .  Vampire Mountain . The words make him smile.

The Mountain is really the closest thing to a home that  Larten has had. He knew when he lived with Alicia in Paris that that could only ever be temporary, though it felt like a home at the time. The same is true of the monastery, and the Cirque du Freak was a home too, but a home for wandering souls. For him it could not be a place to settle down, though he allowed it to be for a time.

The pull of the Mountain has become stronger over the last number of years, wiping everything else out. Would he have come anyway, even if it had not been for Darren? Of that he cannot be certain. But for now he does not need to be. He is coming home. And that is what matters.


	4. Heaven or Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Waylon Jennings  
> SONG TITLE: 'Heaven or Hell'  
> LYRICS: "Sometimes it's heaven and sometimes it's hell/Sometimes I don't even know"

His hand on the jut of her hip, lips to the back of her neck, low voice murmuring, pressing kisses. Afterwards, the two of them lying on the grass - a decidedly human moment - planning where they'll go next. Just the two of them alone, fingers intertwined, maps drawn in the dust.

(Heaven.)

His eyes shining, tears of pain - of grief -, voice hoarse from howling in rage, teeth bared like a wolf. Alicia's name thrumming through his veins as Arra watches him and knows that this is the man she has chosen and he can never love her the way he loves a ghost.

(Hell.)

His eyes meeting hers over the crowd, twinkling and soft. Lips quirking, hair fluffed up. Alicia's ghost has disappeared from his face, and he looks more whole than he has in decades, the half-vampire assistant whom she beat on the bars earlier standing attentive at his side. Like father and son.

Arra Sails doesn't know what to think anymore.

(Maybe this is reality.)


	5. Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Aaron Watson  
> SONG TITLE: 'Except for Jessie'  
> LYRICS: "Well some even cussed his name 'cause they couldn't see the same man she saw"  
> A/N: Spoilers for The Saga of Larten Crepsley. Also some cursing.

When Gavner returns to the Mountain minus Wester and bearing the news that Larten has renounced the clan, the rumour mill spins into motion. Ordinarily such an event would go with little or no acknowledgment, but both Wester and Larten are well-established and highly regarded, so their disappearance sends ripples through the community.

Seba establishes almost immediately that Wester is dead. The absence of any mental signal is more than sufficient proof. Keeping his own counsel and fighting the writhing tin his stomach, he quietly departs for his coffin, a wave of relief rocking him alongside the nausea to discover that Larten is alive though out-of-sorts.

Of course, after Paris searches with the Stone of Blood for the Guard and the General, word seeps out quick enough. But though Seba with his ancient experience is capable of tuning out the muttered theories of the Mountain's inhabitants, Arra and Gavner have it much more difficult. On more than one occasion, Gavner has to have bones set after getting into fights with older, tougher Generals. Though he is no longer the abandoned child in Paris who couldn't understand why Vur Horston didn't want him, Larten's renunciation feels like a second abandonment, especially when he's drunk enough ale that his defences drop. (Did he not try hard enough? Why was he never good enough? And try as Gavner may, the tears burn hot and salty and it's all he can do not to howl his hollowness at inanimate rock and why does he feel like this? It's not as if Larten's dead, dammit.)

For Arra it's different. Long-used to suppressing her emotions and ignoring the whispering glances, most of the murmurs about Larten and Wester simply roll off her. (Though, if most of the whispering vampires looked close enough they'd see the gritted teeth and clenched knuckles that betray the sting of their words.) All the same, and in spite of all of her practice, there's only so much someone can take without breaking.

It's about a year after Gavner's return to the Mountain when Arra snaps. She is in a meeting of Generals, waiting for it to start, when one of the younger, naive members sees fit to expound his theory as to what happened to Wester and caused Larten to leave.

"I hear Flack and Crepsley were travelling together when they were attacked by Vampaneze," the dense fool says, and Arra glances at Gavner to see that his fingernails are buried in the wood of the table. The young General, impervious to this, continues on. "Yes, they were attacked by Vampaneze and Crepsley turned tail and ran so that Flack was killed instead. You see, Creps-" His head snaps back at the end of Arra's fist, blood spurting from her nose as she follows that fist with another into his stomach before lifting him bodily and throwing him across the room. He crashes into the far wall, sliding to the bottom in a crumpled, unconscious heap.

"Larten Crepsley is three times the vampire of him or any of the rest of you," she spits, lip curled as she surveys the gawping Generals, and Gavner's twitch of a smile. "If I ever hear such blatant slander against him again, what that ignorant piece of scum got will look pretty." With that, she spits on the table and stalks out, the palms of her hands bleeding from where her nails pierced the skin.

She walks blindly, without caring where she ends up, and finds herself outside, the snow swirling around her and settling onto her bare arms, the pricks of ice like needles.

Taking a deep breath, the cold searing her lungs, she looks up at the twinkling stars and swallows.

"Wherever hell you are," she whispers, "I hope you're fucking happy."


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: The Corrs  
> SONG TITLE: 'On My Father's Wings'  
> LYRICS: "Some day with his spirit to guide me/And his mem'ry beside me/I will be free"

The pain never goes away, not fully. It's always there thrumming in the background, as much a companion to him as Harkat or Evra. He can often ignore it, put it aside as he goes about his work, though it never leaves. And then there is the rest of the time, when it hits him afresh that he's gone and it's all that Darren can do not to break down and give in.  
  
It's hollowness, helplessness. Like a two day old kitten with eyes still closed struggling to hold his head up. But he must hold his head up, he must go on. It's what Mr Cre- Lart- _he_ would want, and Darren knows that. Knows that he wouldn't want him to break down. Knows that the vampires are depending on him and Vancha.  
  
But how it hurts. Yee Gods how it hurts. And he can't escape it, can only live with it.  
  
The night is cold, the sky a tapestry of pinprick stars and all around the world is quiet. The Cirque has folded up and gone to sleep, but sleep won't come however hard he tries. There is only cold and the aching numb hollowness. Darren rolls out of his hammock and wraps himself in his heavy coat. Not that the cold much bothers him anymore, but the weight of the coat is a comfort.  
  
Outside he perches himself on the hillside overlooking the valley where the Cirque has camped. With the stars and the quiet it is easy to lose himself out here, to close his eyes and hug himself and think. It's been a year and a half. A year and a half since that dreadful night that still wakes him with his heart pounding and skin crawling. A year and a half since flames and pits and stakes and _him_ falling into it all.  
  
What has Darren accomplished in that time? Travelled with the Cirque and helped Harkat and cried until he was sure he could cry no more and yet the tears still keep on coming. He is still no closer to finding Steve.  
  
How he wishes he could rest, could lie down and let the peace wash over him. End it here.  
  
He can't end it here. He must find Steve. It's all he has left to do, and it would be unfair to leave it all on Vancha.  
  
(And Mr Crepsley would frown on it. Would berate him for not taking the responsibility. But Mr Crepsley isn't here and that's what the problem is.)  
  
He can do it. Surely he can, and Mr Crepsley would tell him that were he here. To hear the words would be a mercy, would give him something to hold close and cling to. His rare kind full smile swims before Darren's eyes, warming him against the night.

And the roof of stars burns on.


	7. Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Chris LeDoux  
> SONG TITLE: 'Five Dollar Fine'  
> LYRICS: "And if it ain't on your mind to have a good time/Y'all come back and see us again"  
> A/N: A rather ridiculous installment. Why? Because of the angst to come!

When Vancha March, vampire Prince, is in residence in the Mountain, every fifth day is party day. Well, not quite. More like every fifth day is get-outrageously-drunk-and-have-a-good-time day. No heartbreaks or grudges allowed, at least, not in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. And every vampire present knows not to disobey the order.

Or at least, they should. Some tend to "forget" this ruling when they slip into the doldrums. Vancha's tolerance for such behaviour is terribly limited when the Drinking Rule is in force. He's seen enough, been through enough, that the occasion to lighten the mood around the Mountain is one which he takes most seriously.

One night, shortly after Council and before the bulk of the guest vampires leave the Mountain, Vanche overhears an assistant grumbling over the rule. "We should be allowed to drink over what we want to drink over and not be forced to have a good time," the naïve young vampire, sitting not too far from where Vancha is enjoying a drink with Kurda.

That is the last straw. Vancha finishes his barrel of ale, wipes the back of his mouth and unlooses two shurikens at the assistant. One buries itself in his arm, the other biting into his thigh. "Don't ever let me hear such nonsense again," he snarls, lip curling back, "or this one," and he slips the sharpest shuriken off his belt, "will be rammed down your throat. Understood?"

And from that night on, no vampire dared criticise the Drinking Rule. Or at least, not within earshot of the green-haired Prince.


	8. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Get Scared  
> SONG TITLE: 'Dance With the Dead'  
> LYRICS: "Whisper me a miracle/Or think of something logical"  
> A/N: Part 1/2.

He'd get in the way were he there. He understands that and yet feels he should be there with a bone-deep longing. He is too restless to remain in the Hall of Princes with Arrow, every fibre of his being urging him to be there, to be at her side.  
  
But she was his assistant and surely that entitles him to be there. Not to mention his Princehood ought to carry some weight . . . But no. It would be wrong of him to insist on being present, not to mention highly improper.  
  
Larten will be with her, of course. Paris said that he accompanied her out of the cave. Well, may the luck of the vampires be with the medics if they try to pull _him_ away. Mika may not be interested in taking a mate himself, but he has eyes and he can see as plain as day that those two are musing about mating again.  
  
And they will mate. What can stop them? Certainly not anything Mika has to say. Of course they'll mate.  
  
_But if the wound is fatal? Paris said it was serious._  
  
It can't be. She's Arra Sails. No Vampaneze is going to fell her at her prime. She'll pull through and recover. She and Larten will mate and the problem over what will happen to Darren will be solved easily enough. All will be well.  
  
It has to be.


	9. Blind No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Waylon Jennings  
> SONG TITLE: 'Memories of You and I'  
> LYRICS: "I couldn't see how blind a man can be"  
> A/N: Part 2/2.

He's been in bad fights. He's been battered and bruised, had his ribs broken, been in such pain he felt as if death must surely be stealing upon him. Yet none of that ever left him with the same breathlessness as the news that Arra Sails has died. He feels as if his lungs have caved in, robbing him of air.

He was waiting outside the medical hall when Seba Nile arrived, hobbling thanks to his own wound. And it was Seba who brought the news, Seba who is the first to think that perhaps Mika should know the Fate of his former assistant. So overcome is Mika with the news that Seba squeezes his shoulder before going into the hall.

She's dead. How is she dead?

He leans back against the tunnel wall, his throat aching and tight, suddenly dry. His hands shake as he tries to settle his heartbeat. It's racing through his chest, stars dancing before his eyes, and he balls his hands into tight fists, finger nails buried in his palms. He needs to calm down, to get a rein on himself. Gods.

She's dead.

There are people constantly bustling around inside the hall - he can see them through the doorway. The injured, the dying, the medics, the friends. He could pick out individuals if he wanted, but none of that matters. Not for him, not now. All he knows is that from this angle he can't see the shock of Larten's orange hair that would mark where Arra is lying. (Of course he's still with her. Of course they can't pull him away. Of course that's why Seba came down.) He can only observe the room at large.

His legs buckle under him and he slides the length of the wall, landing on the floor in a slump. His eyes burn, stinging with tears and he pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to fight them back. He shouldn't be crying. It's wrong to cry. She will be triumphant in Paradise. Of course she will be. She would look upon his tears with contempt.

What she thinks doesn't matter now. Not when she's gone.

Footsteps haul him back to where he is, sitting outside the medical hall, Arra Sails lying dead inside. There are two sets of footsteps - one hobbling, one proud yet beaten, almost shuffling, each far too familiar. Neither of those need see him like this, yet Mika looks up, his eyes finding the shock of orange hair he's been searching for. Larten Crepsley is almost a shadow of himself, face snow-white so that his scar and bloodshot eyes stand out grotesquely. He doesn't see Mika, sitting there, blind to his surroundings as Seba guides him out, one hand on the small of his back. Seba, of course, does see Mika, and nods his acknowledgement.

Larten, gods. Arra may be dead, but he looks as if he could follow her if the thought so much as crossed his mind. In a moment, Mika is on his feet and standing in front of him. Larten meets his gaze, eyes dazed.

"Sire, I -"

Mika silences him by pulling him into a hug, and Larten doesn't react. "I know, Larten," he whispers. "She was glad you were there. I know she was."

He'll never understand what prompted him to say it, though he knows the words are true. He cursed Larten's name in the past, said undeniably cruel words about him, yet Arra unfailingly defended him. She defended him for the whole Mountain to see, always. Mika had always taken it as her fierce loyalty, as self-defence in case the cruel things came her way – she had after all been his mate. If Larten was deficient, what did that say about her?

Only now, when Larten hugs him back, breath a short gasp, the depth of Arra's feeling hits him in one blow.

Gods, he was blind.

"Thank you, Sire." Larten is hoarse, and Mika releases him at last, turning and walking away. Arra is dead, and there is nothing more that he can do here.


	10. The Day Is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SINGER: Dublin City Ramblers  
> SONG TITLE: 'John O’Dreams'  
> LYRICS: “The hawks of morning cannot reach you here”

It is an unfortunate habit of Larten's to sing. Or at least, it is an unfortunate habit of Larten's to sing when he is drunk. These tunes he makes up on the spot when his better faculties are elsewhere are not ones which bear repeating in the light of the day.

Which makes it all the better that he can never remember the words when he sobers up anyway.

Though his own lyrical efforts are best forgotten, there is no denying that Larten Crepsley has an ear for music. In his years of roving the world for one reason or another (and most of those reasons are ones he would dearly love to forget) many musical pieces were played which found their way into his memory. Imprinted there they creep back to him in idle moments (and not so idle ones too but many of those are best forgotten as it is) giving his head something to play with though his hands are still. So it is that sitting by Darren's bedside – the boy swathed in bandages thanks to his ordeal in the Hall of Flames, an old piece that Larten picked up somewhere springs to his tongue. He cannot remember the name of the song or where he heard it, and the singer was one of those indiscriminate men playing music in a human tavern. But the song, and the volume that the words spoke, are not so lost to him thanks to time.

"When midnight comes and people homeward tread," he murmurs, fingers light on Darren's hand, "seek out your blankets and your feather bed."

And singing that song, ever so softly, it is the first time in days that Larten feels a little easier about the Trials lying ahead.


End file.
